New Girl In Town
by AmyLeeWarren
Summary: There's a new girl. One with a past that not even she knows. Flown in from D.C, Louise Mitchell joins the mad house. She's starting to feel she understands more than she should. That she's part of it all. Please review. Bolivia, just to keep us all happy.
1. Welcome to the Family

**Well, this is a first Fringe thing for me.**

**I really need the reviews for this chapter, because I'm not sure if I should continue in first person, or move into third, or have a bit of both. So any comments are really appreciated. **

**Everything shall be explained. **

**Ah, it's an old joke, but no in****fringe****ment intended. **

* * *

New Girl In Town

How I got here, freezing my suited ass off in sub-zero Boston, attempting to drone out my new, stoic supervisor Philip Broyles, will always escape me.

One day, I'm sunning it up, being a normal cop in D.C, and the next, I'm being dragged up the coast to Massachusetts to meet some woman, a crazy scientist and his son.

I swear, it's beginning to sound like the Adam's family, the way Phil talks about it.

The pack I've been given hangs heavy, choc-a-block with case files, photographs, and other little trinkets to make you all-out disturbed. I thought I'd seen it all when it came to grisly murders, but apparently not.

I shift my briefcase into my other hand, swiping at a loose lock of my famed auburn hair, and tucking it behind my ear.

Suddenly, we reach a double door, and I'm completely unaware of how long we've been walking.

"I have a meeting, but of you explain your situation to Agent Dunham, she will introduce you to the team."

What exactly is my situation?

"Yes sir."

Wow, somehow that came out normal.

Pushing the door open, I get a whiff of something putrid, and throw an arm up over my mouth and nose, shouted a muffled greeting.

No response.

I brave moving my arm, to shout a 'hello' strangled by the attack on my senses.

A silver haired man bobs up from beneath a table, large blue eyes wide beneath safety glasses.

His aged face breaks out into a huge grin as he waves enthusiastically and begins to approach me, tripping over a vast amount of machinery on the way.

"Hello!" He cries, seemingly unaffected by the stench.

Three voices chorus from the other side of the room, and the corresponding faces appear from behind a screen, and yes, they are armed with masks.

"Walter?"

Thank God it wasn't just me. For a moment I thought something was seriously wrong.

I smile and take the oldest man's hand in a firm shake. "I'm looking for Agent Olivia Dunham?"

"Here."

A tall, blond haired woman stalks purposefully forward, and if she hadn't been wearing a paper mask, splattered with what looked like fruit, I might have been intimidated.

Well- maybe I am a little. Her gaze seemed softer than it should have been, almost amused, but I could tell she could probably kill me with a look.

Maim if anything.

"How about we step outside?"

Sounds like a plan.

* * *

Back into the cold, bitter air of mid-winter, she sighs and smiles sweetly as she takes my hand. Another woman followed her out, who I presumed to be Agent Astrid Farnsworth.

What a name.

"Are you the agent from D.C?" Olivia asks me, removing her mask.

"Yes, Agent Louise Mitchell." I pause, unsure of how to phrase my question. "Broyles said you would explain everything, though I must admit," I motion to the pack, "pictures do tell a thousand words."

They offer a wry smile each, and the double doors reopen and a man emerges.

"Hi." He smiles, holding out a hand. "Peter Bishop."

Well, at least it's a good looking freak show.

"Welcome to Fringe division."

**So- any comments?**


	2. Freak Show

**Due to popular demand, I'm not changing POV. **

**I've not really entered a summary to this, but I'm finding it hard to write one without giving too much away. Apologies for anyone confused. Just drop me a line and I'll explain as best I can.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Freak Show

After being ushered out of the building into the clean, reasonably nice smelling air, Agent Dunham began to assault me with questions. Definitely the over-protective mother hen.

The truth is, I didn't know anything.

I got hounded up here, involuntarily. So when she asked what I was even doing here, I couldn't help but shrug my shoulders.

An eyebrow was raised in my direction.

"Do you even know what we do?"

"You deal with the weird and the wonderful." I dead-pan.

"Listen, I don't want my unit infiltrated by some rookie who doesn't even know what we're dealing with." She hissed, right in my face. "I don't even know why Broyles sent you."

She began to walk away, long blond hair swinging from a messy ponytail. I smile a little at the remnants of what looks like watermelon that laced the back of neck.

I jog to catch up with her long strides, wiping my finger across her neck to remove said fruit. I show her and her lips twitch upwards ever so slightly.

"I know what you do." I say softly, wiping my fingers on my coat sleeve. "And I know what happened."

Her eyes narrow slightly, unbelieving.

"You lost a team member. You're one down."

"We have plenty capable agents right here. Why would he fly you up from D.C?"

"Don't ask me! I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be." I laugh slightly.

She chuckles under her breath.

"What experience do you have?"

I draw in a sharp breath, before releasing it in a laugh.

"Where to start. Coffee?"

* * *

Snow was beginning to fall lightly as Olivia, Peter and I sat huddled in the corner of a small pastry shop just around the corner from Harvard. I sip my black coffee, marvelling the hot liquid as it falls down my throat.

"So, what makes you think you're special enough to work with us?" Peter asks, his arms crossed on the table and inquisitive blue eyes peering right at me. I place my mug down carefully and copy his stance, and choose to ignore the apparent grin on Agent Dunham's face as she tries to hide it behind her mug.

Smirking, I draw an envelope from my trench coat pocket, and slide out a piece of paper, with three single letters emblazoned at the top.

_ZFT_

Their eyes widen with some sort of understanding, as I launch into a description, however tame, (we are in a public place, after all) into what I have seen. My connections, supervisors, and everything needed included.

Turns out, it's all quite similar.

By the end, the table is littered with documents, reports and witness statements all drawn from my 'Mary Poppins' style briefcase, which was hidden under the table.

I sigh audibly, leaning back in my chair, reaching the end of a rather disturbing story involving a prostitute and pyrokinesis.

Peter winced at all the right moments, and once, Olivia spat out her coffee. She ditched the mug after that, settling for picking a loose strand on the tablecloth wide green eyes watching me intently.

It must feel nice to know you're not the only one in your nightmare world, and despite my frosty welcome, they seem to be warming to me.

"Well..." Olivia stands suddenly. "I have one thing left to say."

She extends a hand in my direction for the second time today.

"Welcome to the freak show, Louise Mitchell, you're gonna love it."

Oh, sarcasm.

Just what I like.

* * *

The hotel is a mess. Why the FBI couldn't splash out a little until I get an apartment, I have no idea.

Pulling my hair back into a bun, I pad into the bathroom and splash my face with water, wiping off my thin layer of make-up. Just enough to get me by without the world think it's Halloween.

But hey-every day for me is Halloween now. Why not vamp it up?

I ponder tomorrow while dabbing on some moisturiser. In the bright light of the bathroom, my amber eyes seem bright, and open.

I know I'm not _bad_ looking. But I'm certainly not aglow with some ethereal aura like good Agent Dunham. Scars still graced her brow bone and forehead, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for what this division has put her through.

I want to take some of that from her, let dome weight fall onto me.

It's the least I could do.

* * *

I kick off my scratchy, hotel covers and swing my leg out of bed for the third time that night. I stand, stretch, and rub at cramp in my left leg.

Sleep escapes me whenever I have anything on my mind. Not exactly a good habit in my line of work, but I do try. I live off of caffeine pills and coffee, and it wreaks havoc on my temper.

First real day on the job and I don't want to let that shine.

Sitting upright against the headboard, I wonder, again, why Broyles brought me here. Sure, I have experience, but I was busy enough in D.C with all the wacky things happening.

Just a week ago for example, I was plagued by a man with the 'chemistry of life'.

Cheesy title, but that is what he called it.

He managed to transform DNA, alter it, and mutate whatever nucleotide her wanted to create 'super soldiers'.

In his lab, we found a man who's skin couldn't be penetrated, the whole epidermis as tough as leather. Not to mention the woman who had a gestation period of two days, in which she could give birth to over 100 of these awful creatures a year.

That was not a pretty show.

Unfortunately, we lost her to extreme exhaustion and dehydration, and I couldn't help but mourn for her. She was such a sweet girl, at only 21. When she opted into the trials, she foolishly thought it was a fertility study.

Flipping off the switch, I'm plunged into darkness once again, but contrary to any normal person, I'm glad there's no silence.

Have a happy honeymoon Room 235.

Okay, it may be a little awkward.

**Please review, I do need guidance. :)**


	3. Sugar and Spice

**Thanks everyone for all your fantastic reviews. It's great to hear you're all enjoying this. **

**I had a great idea for something else I could write, but it could get really confusing if I add it to this. So, I'll finish this first. :)**

**As always- no copyright infringement intended.**

Sugar and Spice

Outside the hotel, the streets are quiet, and my mood's reasonably chirpy.

It's just coming up to 7am, and clouds are beginning to shift to make room for what looks like a blinding, yet bitter autumn day. It rained from 3 to 5am, so the sidewalk's glittering in the exposed sunlight. I bend down and tie a loose lace on my running shoes. Slipping in a pair of ear phones, I try to judge my surroundings. Vonda Shepard blares in my ears from the flight here, and I flip the music to something with a little bit of a heavier beat.

Daughtry?

Well it's either that or Bonnie Tyler.

* * *

An hour later, I'm freshly showered and smelling of cinnamon. A simple gift from a friend in California. I remember spotting a Starbucks on the corner and opt for a regular. I could use the far, I've managed to side-step a bad temper. I even got round to tipping the bell boy from last night. Throwing an empty cereal bar wrapper into a trash can, I jump over a mud puddle, one of many which are covering the grassy exterior of the university. Peeling off my gloves, I push open the double doors to Dr. Bishop's lab. Everywhere I look is certainly cleaner than last time I was here. The fruit remnants have disappeared and the disgusting smell replaced by the faint aroma of lemon.

And coffee if my nose serves me well.

I take in my surroundings, looking at each dripping test tube and burrette. Five conical flasks line a windowsill, each filled with God-knows-what.

The place really does look like Dr. Frankenstein's lab.

A bright yellow post it catches my attention, and I descend the steps to an empty desk near the front.

_Dear Agent Mitchell,_

_I've just popped out to pick up some breakfast. Coffee pot's still warm. _

_Astrid_

I knew I could smell coffee.

* * *

My phone chimes, and I perch on the end of the desk holding my second mug of coffee today.

"Louise Mitchell."

"_Good Morning Agent Mitchell. I trust you're already at Harvard."_

"Yes sir."

"_Your office is ready here at Headquarters."_

Yes!

"_Agent Dunham and the Bishop's are en route to Harrisburg. Double murder. I'll send you directions."_

Fantastic. First case, and I'm on my own. Pennsylvania and everything.

I scribe a quick note to Astrid, and fish out my company car keys. My phone beeps once or twice, marking the arrival of the directions. I steal a quick glance at the address before jumping into the SUV.

Allons-y.

* * *

Miraculously, by the last couple of miles, I managed to catch right up to Olivia and the gang. Turns out traffic was pretty bad on the inter-state. After a 6 hour drive, my good temper had diminished, giving room for the sinking feeling of dread.

A double murder.

Kids?

A couple?

How is this even Fringe worthy?

By the end of my internal monologue, I was praying that none of this involved too much bodily fluids.

And by that- I mean liquid brains.

* * *

A light mist of rain was beginning to cover our windshields as I jumped out the car and approached the array of vehicles parked haphazardly around the entrance to a small, run-down building.

"Nice to see you so bright eyed." Peter smiles.

I try to smile, but the glimpse of the yellow tape out of the corner of my eye stops my mouth from moving anywhere. Not even to form a coherent 'Good Morning'.

Peter just nods, almost understandingly.

I give a simple shrug of my shoulders and move towards the car, starting to help lug out all of Walter's equipment.

Whilst holding two exceedingly heavy silver briefcases I'm led through the battered wooden door into what seems to be a old storage facility.

"Bodies are in the corner."

I peer around Olivia, and set down the lead weights.

She turns to face me, with quite a bemused expression.

"Excuse me..." She says. "There's only one body?"

"Look up." He states simply, flipping a page on his clipboard and walking away. Just as he leaves, he tosses over his shoulder- "I'll be outside."

I swear I heard him mutter 'Good Luck'.

If the whole concept of the double murder, along with the smell of fresh death isn't enough to make me want to regurgitate my breakfast all over that dear corner's jumpsuit, it's seeing Walter's face scrunch up as a single drop of blood falls onto his nose.

"Found the other body." He says solemnly.

* * *

We were all huddled around the first body, (the one on the ground), listening to Walter babble about an unnatural temperature when I first smelt it.

Cotton candy.

I ignore it, looking at the awful, bubbling callouses and scars on the woman's body. She dressed in the remains of a hospital gown, along with the other woman on the roof, who we haven't had the pleasure of examining until she's unstuck from the rafters.

I am quite interested to know how she got there.

I see a glimpse of pink fabric on the girl's leg, and dread to think of what she might have gone through.

Just as I'm donning gloves to take a look, I get a whiff of it again.

I sniff audibly, and Peter turns and knits his eyebrows together. I just sniff again in reply.

"You don't smell that?" I mouth.

"What?" He stays mute also.

"Cotton candy."

"No, that's not it."

"Yes it is!"

By now, Olivia is giving us the coldest of looks.

"It's ammonia, Mitch."

"What did you just call me?" I speak out loud. Too loud, I think.

"Mitch. Nickname."

"At least you didn't get 'sweetheart' or 'honey'." Olivia seethes, glaring, only half jokingly at Peter. "What are you two arguing about anyway?"

"Can you smell cotton candy?" I turn to her, my gloved hands face up.

"No."

She looks at me as if I'm crazy. God- I was hoping it would be a while before she looked at me like that.

I shut my mouth and excuse myself.

At least I'm driving home alone.

**A/N- Well, why does she smell such thing? You'll have to find out. **

**By the way, my iPod does consist of Vonda Shepard, Daughtry and Bonnie Tyler. Among other things. **


	4. Blood and Bone

**Yeah, I'm swamped. I'm so sorry. **

I drive back to Boston alone, flanking Olivia's dark SUV, barely visible through the pelting rain. On arrival at Harvard, we bolt to the door, dodging sheets of rain, falling like icy guillotines.

I could use one of them.

Even though we were now far from the crime scene- the scent of sweet, sickly cotton candy still invades my nose.

It's starting to worry me.

* * *

Putting my slip up on the back burner in my mind, I accept a fresh mug of coffee from Astrid as we all crowd around the central gurney, watching Walter poke and prod at the victim. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Walter put something into the woman's ear and push. A loud crack sounds, and I wince.

Everyone does.

"Thanks for the warning." I mutter, wiping spilt coffee from my bare arms.

"High temperature. Hmm." He ponders.

I roll my eyes, and draw a black leather pad from my bag, jotting down some quick notes and flipping through what I wrote at the crime scene.

Bits and pieces from the witness who found her really, the smell of ammonia is what dragged the worker to the abandoned warehouse.

My heart sinks all over again as I read, my eyes darting to the woman's pale, ghostly complexion, her cerulean eyes glazed over, ones that I can only imagine sparkled a day or two ago.

Scrawled along the bottom- _What do you smell?_

"We have a high internal temperature." Walter mumbles.

"Radiation?" Peter chimes, snapping on a pair of Evolution Ones.

"No, there was no excess radiation when I checked at the crime scene."

I was wondering what that ticking was.

"Why don't you take a blood sample, see if there's anything unusual." The Bishops boys agree silently and gather some equipment. Astrid turns to me with an amused expression gracing her features.

"My major was life sciences, but I minored haematology. High internal temperature could be caused by a foreign substance that the body's immune system is trying, and possibly failing to fight. It must be really big to be that high though."

"If she was infected with something, that could explain the lesions and blisters on her skin."

"But what about the other victim?" Astrid says, motioning towards the still covered gurney to out left. "She has no lesions. No apparent cause of death either."

"Asphyxiation?" Peter offers.

"Maybe we're looking at the wrong girl." Walter says, too cryptic for our liking. He throws the white sheet off of our second victim, just as Olivia throws open the door to the lab, in an apparent blind rage.

Walter settles into silence for his examination while Peter follows Olivia to a desk on the far side of the room, littered with papers and pictures. She's muttering something about insufferable deputies and county officers when they march back over to us.

"I got IDs on both the women. Dr. Sandra Tait and Dr. Morgan Daly. Both doctors at Victoria Hospital out in New Jersey."

"How did they end up in Connecticut?"

"According to their credit card receipts, they were at a medical conference." Olivia seems to be reigning in her anger, but her jaw looks to be pulsing along with her heartbeat.

"We have no cause of death yet-"

"Look at her! Is that not her cause of death?" Olivia barks, clearly strung out and stressed.

Peter places a gentle hand on her shoulder and she droops a little, using her thumbs to roughly massage her temples. "I'm sorry. Headache."

She ignores the drumming that wants to burst it's way through her eyelids, and Peter subtly massages the space between her shoulder blades, and I can't help but smile at the way she subconsciously leans back into him.

"Why don't you drive Olivia home, if anything comes up, we'll call."

Her mouth forms a 'no', but no sound emerges, just a weak nod after some prodding from her masseuse.

My insides twist just a little at the thought of being in charge of the nut-house for just a couple of hours.

Maybe I didn't think this through.

* * *

I'm alone with the bodies, Walter and Astrid having toddled off for something or other from the shops. I drop a chair between the two gurneys, and dump the case files on the floor next to me.

I'm aching to reach out and touch the young woman's hand, the one who looks like she's sleeping, her long blond hair spread around her clear skin. I sigh, and clasp my hands together to refrain.

I turn to the other, her blistered, bloodied skin setting off alarm bells in my head. Walter's blood test was still under way, the computer bleeping somewhere else. I pull my hair from it's band, letting messy, loose waves fall onto my shoulders and tickle my neck. Pulling reading glasses from my pocket, I flip open the files, and scan for any useful information. I look over their medical histories, but nothing irregular leaps out at me.

But there it is- cotton candy.

I just reach the bathroom in time.

* * *

Astrid's shouting my name as I pad back through to the lab. My seat is tipped, the papers everywhere from my mad dash to the toilet. I wave at her, and she sighs in relief, slipping her cell back into her pocket.

"You alright? You look really pale." She pours me a glass of water from a fountain and motions for me to sit.

"Fine." I lie. "I just tripped. Guess I didn't hear it fall."

"Okay." She looks unconvinced. "Anything new?"

One of the monitors begins to beep repeatedly.

"Well the bloods are done."

I make a few adjustments on the screen.

"Call Walter."

She does.

"See these antigen's on the red blood cells? That one is Rhesus+, and the other is A."

"So the girl's A+. So what?"

"Just watch."

She does, squinting at the bright screen. Suddenly, her eyes widen in horror.

"Did that just change?"

"Where does Walter keep the ethanol?" I straighten, and pull a spare test tube from the drawer below the desk.

"No time to be drinking." She smirks.

"Not for that." I laugh. "I need to pull a strand of DNA. If it's changing her blood, it's changing her DNA." I dart to the shelf Astrid's pointing to, and rummage for a full bottle.

"I hate bugs."

"Me too." I yell from the other side of the lab, while putting some ethanol in the chiller.

"You know Walter has machines that do this for you, right?" She chuckles, handing me a pair of gloves. I snap them on and pass her a scalpel.

"Where's the fun in that?"

**My prelims are coming up and this whole thing is great for my Human Biology paper. Sorry about the wait. It is coming though. **


	5. Always Listen to the Fortune Cookies

**I must admit, this does lack much Olivia. I'll fit her in somewhere. If I have room.**

**Please review of you have any questions. There are some serious scientific grey areas in here... mainly due to me only having studied it for 3 years. **

* * *

I hear Astrid laugh from across the lab, pulling a thin, hair-like strand of DNA from a test tube.

"You're right. That was fun."

I wipe blood from a lab coat, praying Walter wouldn't notice it among the rest of god-knows-what that splattered the coat. Astrid strides over, holding the tweezers away from her face, watching the opalescent strand glint in the light. She lays it onto the treated slide, and I slip it under the electron microscope and set up the monitor on the desk.

Adjusting a couple of settings, I manage to get a clear view of the woman's DNA on the screen.

Not bad for manual work.

I zoom in, and we watch.

Walter storms in loudly and we shush him.

No change.

I pull away from the monitor, slipping off my glasses to rub at my itchy, tired eyes. Astrid bends her back to try and realign herself.

"Nothing." She sighs.

"Wait for it..." I say, leaning over the desk and pointing a pencil at one of the codons. "Did you see that change?" My eyes widen.

"Some thing's inside her. Changing her, possibly using her as a host."

"A parasite?"

"It might even be microscopic. We may not be talking tapeworms here." Peter descends the stairs, slipping his cell back into his pocket, no doubt after checking up on Olivia.

"Wait!" Walter suddenly shouts. "It's not a parasite!"

"And I was looking forward to knowing what the hell was going on. Even just a little bit." I turn and whisper to Astrid. She laughs quietly.

"Me too."

"Then what is it?" Peter asks patiently.

"It's psychological. All of it!"

"What?" We chorus, exasperated.

"The chemical that's in their blood, it's a neurological stimulant. It causes extreme hallucinations."

"We've seen this before." Peter wonders aloud. "They lived out their nightmares."

"Exactly!" Walter cries, and we all flinch at his outburst. "They're dying in their nightmares."

"Did you just get this out of nowhere Walter?" I ask over the din.

"It dawned on me that it was a reasonable explanation, yes."

"So we got covered in ethanol for nothing?" Astrid asks me, drawing curious glances from Peter and Olivia.

"It's not my fault the bottles aren't in a good condition."

"No, it's mine. You're just clumsy."

I hide a grin.

"So what can we do to prove this is a psychological stimulant?"

"I could dose a-"

"No! No dosing Walter!"

"Just rats son." Walter smiles. "I learned my lesson from Agent Dunham." He nods earnestly and Peter's lips twitch slightly, his jaw tightening.

"If I give the mice blood transfusions with the two women's blood, we can see the effect the chemical on them."

"Sounds... plausible." I deadpan.

"That's presuming the toxin is still in their blood."

Oh dear God, I hope it is.

* * *

It's already too late to perform the transfusions, so I sulk off at dusk, slipping past Peter at his station, tinkering with his 'project'.

Deep down, somewhere in my gut, there's this feeling. A twist, a knot, pulling my insides up and out of my throat.

And I have no idea why.

The thought of not being able to control what's going on in your own investigation is sickening. Not understanding what caused the murders will drive me crazy, I just know it.

I pick up some Chinese food on the way home from this little place across from Harvard.

By the time I've sat sat down and started to pick at my king prawn chow mien, it's past 9 and I'm beyond exhausted.

Being in the mix of everything, trying to figure out what was going on had taken more out of me than I thought. Not to mention my quick dash to the ladies room just after lunch.

I place down my complimentary chopsticks and reach for the fortune cookie. I turn it over in my hands a few times before tearing off the wrapper.

What could a cookie know?

I snap the biscuit in two, and pull out the paper curiously.

_If you're not part of the problem, you're part of the solution._

How cheesy is that?

* * *

By the time I woke, the sun has risen well above the jagged horizon of Boston, and the bright sky promised bitter winds.

I step into the steaming shower, allowing the hot water to cascade down tired, aching muscles.

Though I had slept late, I hadn't slept well. I tossed and turned throughout the night, dreams filled with irrelevant facts and faces. I lost track of the clock, and had to rush out of bed.

I shower quickly, and step out onto the mat within a couple of minutes.

I towel dry my hair, before blasting it with the dryer as I pull on a sweater and black jeans.

Will have to go with the casual look today, as in my haste to get to bed, I'd forgotten to pop down to the laundrette.

I snatch up my cell and briefcase off the table and catch sight of last nights meal.

The boxes were closed, barely touched, and the cookie snapped, but uneaten. The fortune is sitting on top of my glasses, with I slip into my pocket, before picking up the fortune.

The line rolls over in my head, slowly.

_Part of the solution._

"Don't be stupid." I say aloud, my thoughts ticking over.

I never did acknowledge my sudden smelling of cotton candy.

What if it's caused by the over-activity of my sinus?

What if the neurological stimulant is in me, causing my brain to go into over drive?

It doesn't make any sense.

Why am I not dead?

Not that I'm complaining obviously.

Don't be stupid Louise.

* * *

Walter has set up his 'experiment' by the time I get to the lab, and I dump my stuff and accept the apron that's being handed to me.

"Plan?" I ask no-one in particular.

"I like to think he has one." Olivia has returned, looking rested and less uptight.

I sigh and wring my hands in expectancy.

"You okay Mitch?" Peter asks, turning away from the gurney and cages.

"Fine." I croak.

"Good. We need you on top form."

Olivia snaps on a pair of gloves before Walter hands her a rat to hold. He also hands an extra squirmy one to Astrid while he and Peter injected blood samples from the two women- one into each rat.

I step back, away from the impending doom of this experiment.

"What do you think the symptoms of the chemical are?"

"Agitation, stress. Possible excretion." Walter doesn't even turn to face me for the answer.

"Peter?" He glances over his shoulder, and catches a glimpse of my ashen face. "A word?"

**Cliffie! Please review. :)**

**What really worries me, is I've done the first experiment with the DNA. And got covered in ethanol in the process. So- true story!**

**It was just an onion. No-one freak out now.**

**I really shouldn't advertise, but my own work is up on FictionPress if anyone fancies a look. It's called _As If By Magic._  
**


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